


Brazen and Bright

by Jaelijn



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M, Season/Series 02, but mostly just fluff, fluff with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 23:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17171366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: TheLiberatorcrew finally get to take a holiday - but Vila never expected holidaying with Avon to be uneventful.





	Brazen and Bright

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my Christmas/Season fic, and finally also one for which I can use this title - PotF lyrics are a blessing. Like last year's holiday fic, this too is religion non-specific, though inspired by Victorian Christmas-y motifs - but please enjoy as a little fluff piece for the season, whether you celebrate anything around now or not. Best wishes and much love! <3

“What?”

“Well, Cally – all of you have been saying that we need one, so we’re taking one.”

“A holiday,” Avon echoed flatly. He sounded as though he had found that Blake had grown a second head. Vila would have laughed, but he didn’t want to do anything that might make Blake change his mind. And if that meant lurking in the flight deck entrance and listening in stealthily, then so be it.

“Yes,” Blake affirmed. “I thought you’d be pleased. You were all saying how much we need a break, and after the last weeks I think we might be able to afford one. Only a few days, stretch our legs on an uninhabited planet – there is a suitable one on our course.”

Vila’s enthusiasm dampened. An uninhabited planet? That meant untamed wilderness, and certainly no pleasure centres or casinos or any other creature comforts.

Vila couldn’t see Avon’s expression from where he was standing, his back to the entrance and Vila, but his voice continued to be chillingly flat: “I see.”

“Orac confirmed that it is safe. I want all of us to go down, taking turns – perhaps in groups of two and three?”

“And I suppose you have already decided what these groups are going to be.”

“If you are willing to put up with me, we can send Vila with Cally and Jenna – or you could go with Cally, yourself.”

“No, Blake.”

Frustration was starting to creep into Blake’s expression. “What do you mean, no?”

“I won’t let you dictate with whom to spend my holiday. Or is it, perhaps, that you don’t want to leave me alone with someone who might just agree to leave you behind and steal the ship?” Dismay flickered across Blake’s face, but Avon either didn’t see it or forged on regardless. “If this planet is as safe as you say, we could all go down at the same time – Orac is more than capable of monitoring the ship and teleporting us back in case of emergencies. If it’s any consolation, I doubt that any of the others could be convinced to leave anyone behind, even Vila – as long as you keep anyone with me, you’ll be quite safe, and somehow I don’t think _you_ are willing to lose any of them to get rid of _me_.”

“This isn’t what this is about, Avon,” Blake said, voice tight with strained patience.

“No? ‘Avon might run,’ wasn’t it? Surely you don’t think that what happened since has improved matters.” Avon pushed out from behind his console. “We’ll take your holiday, Blake – but each of us will decide how and with whom to spend it. You might be the leader when it comes to your glorious cause, but I will not let you determine how I spend my free time, even if it has to be on a wilderness planet.” Avon spun on his heel and headed straight towards where Vila was hiding.

Vila beat a hasty retreat and pretended ignorance when Blake announced the holiday to all of them later. Cally approved of the break and acknowledged that an uninhabited planet was likely their best choice, even though it didn’t afford relaxation facilities. Jenna, as much as she was a spacer, looked forward to stretching her legs. That it was an alien planet didn’t bother her at all. It bothered Vila, but he had a strategy: stick close to Avon. Avon would keep himself safe, and if Vila was close enough, he’d benefit from that, too. Of course Avon might have something to say about his company, but Vila thought he had a fair chance – after all, Avon had already made it clear that he did not want to stay with Blake or Cally, and somehow Vila thought it unlikely that Jenna would pick him.

Of course, before they could even teleport down to the planet and get started on their holiday, there was more work to be done – there were survival tents in the holds that needed to be lugged up to the teleport unit; survival bags needed to be packed and food stuffs packaged. Vila was starting to think that staying on the ship might be more relaxing, but the only one who voiced _that_ thought was Avon. But Cally threw her weight behind Blake, declaring that it would do them good to breathe different air and see something other than the _Liberator_ ’s corridors, and Avon conceded with ill grace. At least there were air mattresses – Vila would have drawn the line at sleeping on the hard ground, even if he had to bribe Orac to teleport him back for the night.

He nearly missed his chance anyway – while Blake, Cally and Jenna were still happily puttering around in the kitchen, packing lunch hampers, Avon snuck by, a bag slung over his shoulder and a bracelet already clasped around his arm. Vila had to run to catch him up, but Avon was still in the teleport unit when he did. It was worth having a nasty glare thrown at him.

“What do you want?” Avon snapped in his most unfriendly tone. He was leaning over the teleport console, adjusting the coordinates, while Orac buzzed away in readiness on the bench.

This wasn’t the time to beat around the bush. “I want to come with you,” Vila said plainly, hoisting up his own bag.

Avon shot him a glare full of menace. “No.”

“Look, I know you want to be alone.”

“That’s right. So leave.”

“But you’ll be safer with someone to watch your back–”

“You?” Avon interrupted, with his usual sceptical lilt. But he sounded less forbidding than he might have, and Vila wasn’t deterred.

“– and you’d rather me than anyone else.”

Avon straightened up from the console, looking Vila up and down. “That’s your pitch?”

“You didn’t give me a chance to rehearse and I’m not applying for a job. But I’d rather not go down there alone and, if it has to be anyone, I’d rather be with you. Come on, Avon. It’s not a pleasure planet, but at least we’ll have some time to ourselves.”

Something flickered in Avon’s eyes and he glanced away far too quickly, alarming Vila. He didn’t think Avon would say no – but there was something wrong. “You won’t find me good holidaying company, Vila.”

“I don’t care. The others are going hiking – if I wanted to traipse around alien landscapes for hours, I could have done without a holiday. At least, wherever we’re going, we won’t be doing that.” Vila indicated the tent waiting in the teleport bay. “Besides, you’ll need help with that; there’ll be no getting back early once we’re down. Blake told Orac not to teleport any of us back unless it’s an emergency before our three days are up.”

Avon’s lips pressed together – clearly he had found out as much himself already. But he didn’t comment, just stepped back from the console, adjustments completed. “Get a bracelet, then.”

Vila hurried to comply, joining him in the teleport alcove. “Where _are_ we going?”

“You’ll see,” Avon said simply, resting one hand on the weapon strapped around his waist. “Orac. Operate teleport as instructed.”

For once, Orac didn’t grumble in protest – probably looking forward to the time alone – and a moment later _Liberator_ ’s slightly chilly air was replaced by the much warmer climate on the planet.

Vila hastily bent his knees for balance when his feet sagged into loose ground underfoot – sand. He looked up and found more sand, all around. “A desert?” he asked, incredulously, taking in the planet’s sun burning down from above. “You took us to a desert?”

“I don’t like the cold,” Avon said, hefting the rolled-up tent. “Give me a hand carrying this.”

Vila took one of the carrier straps. “I can understand wanting to avoid the cold – but surely this is excessive?”

Avon shot him a glare and pulled them into motion, ascending a dune. “Orac found a spot nearby. I believe _oasis_ is the right word. It’s far enough into the desert to be perfectly isolated, and the hollow and the water source keeps the worst of the heat away.”

Once they reached the crescent of the dune, Vila could see Avon’s oasis – a decently sized lake, surrounded by greenery and some rocks, nestled in the shade of high rising dunes. It didn’t look particularly alien, not that Vila had much experience with nature back on Earth, either. “Sure it’s safe?”

  “We might encounter some migrating birds, but other than that we should remain alone.”

“No carnivorous plants? Or ones with a taste for thieves? Or poisonous water?”

Avon heaved a sigh, more weary than impatient. “No. The most dangerous thing out here is me, so shut up and help me set up this tent.”

They set the tent up between a rock formation and a group of trees which provided an ample amount of shade, even shielding some of the water from the worst of the glare. Vila wasn’t sure how far to trust Avon’s judgement when it came to nature, but he trusted that Avon did his research. They might have to retreat to the climate-controlled tent for the worst of the heat and for the dip in temperature at night and the sand would get everywhere, but it beat hiking with the others.

By the time the tent was up, they were both sweating. Avon had stripped off his jacket early on and now was rummaging in his bag for the light desert wear they had uncovered in the _Liberator_ ’s holds when they’d gone down to Zonda. Vila had brought nothing of the sort, but at least his usual clothes were light and flowing and brightly coloured anyway. Still, he eyed the unmoving water of the lake enviously.

“Is it safe to swim, do you think?”

“It should be.” Avon liberated the clothes and eyed him askance. “ _You_ can swim?”

 “I’m a survivor, Avon, my friend. I know how to stay above water if I have to. Right now, I want as much of me _in_ the water as I can.”

Vila expected a scathing retort, but Avon only arched an eyebrow. He seemed… muted, somehow, as if someone had turned him to a lower setting. Perhaps he was just tired or distracted – or getting increasingly annoyed at Vila. There’d be time to find out and fix whatever it was, later.

Vila toed off his shoes and socks and removed the drenched shirt. He hesitated with his fingers in the waistband of his trousers. “Didn’t bring any swimwear. Do you mind?”

Avon shook his head. He wasn’t smiling, his expression mostly blank. “You haven’t anything I haven’t seen,” he said, which Vila took as permission to strip fully.

He waded quickly into the pleasantly lukewarm water, grateful that it was clear and he could see that there was nothing dangerous lurking underfoot. Avon’s strange behaviour niggled worryingly at the back of his mind – and so, rather than soaking for a while, Vila washed down quickly, getting some of the grime and sand off, and padded back to the shore.

Avon lay stretched out in the shade, his head pillowed on his carrier bag, eyes mostly closed. He didn’t move when Vila stepped over him to reach his own bag.

Vila sloppily pulled on some shorts and stretched out on a towel by Avon’s side. The heat would dry him in no time at all; he needn’t even lift a finger. He opened his mouth to chatter at Avon, to find out what had put him into such a strange mood, when both of their bracelets chimed.

Avon reached out for his before Vila could even think to liberate his own from where it was tangled in his discarded clothes. “Avon.”

“Avon! Where are you? Are you all right?” It was Blake.

Avon sat up, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I’m taking the holiday you promised us. Unless there is a very good reason for interrupting me…”

“Where did you go?” Cally, this time. “Orac says he can’t tell us.”

“I wiped the coordinates – Orac won’t need them to bring me back, and I don’t want any company. Enjoy your holiday. _I_ intend to.”

“Avon, wait!” Jenna, too, now.

Avon already had his hand on the sign-off button, but he waited in terse silence.

“Is Vila with you? I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Yes,” Avon said through gritted teeth. “I’m signing off now. I expect I’ll see you in two days.” With that, he cut the connection, though he didn’t take off the bracelet – it was probably a safety precaution; Vila ought to have his own at hand too, just in case.

 Vila reached over and lazily searched to folds of his clothes for the bracelet, placing it down by his side. “You really wanted to be alone, didn’t you?” he said, keeping his voice deliberately light and conversational.

Avon drew his knees up to his chest, draping his arms over them, and stared out over the lake. “Yes. But since I suppose it’s too much to ask, I’d rather you than anyone else.”

Vila rolled onto his side, propping himself up onto his elbow. Avon looked beautiful in the natural sunlight, not like the illumination on the _Liberator_ , which made all of them appear paler and sicklier than they were. There were unexpected brighter highlights in Avon’s hair, gleaming even in the shade they were sitting in. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t bring you along to bare my soul to you,” Avon said, but it was without malice – without much infliction at all, in fact.

“You don’t even want to take advantage of our time alone? No distractions, no alarms, no deathly threats, no malfunctions?”

Avon sighed, some of the tension melting from his shoulders. “I warned you I wouldn’t be the best of companies. It has nothing to do with you, Vila; don’t take it personally.”

“I won’t,” Vila agreed blithely, “but I might if there is something I could do to help and you won’t let me.”

Avon’s lips quirked in a poor mimicry of a smile. “Not even you can erase past events.”

“Oh. An anniversary, is it?”

“You could say that.” Avon released his clasped hands and set them behind himself into the sand, squinting at the sky through the tree above them. “It will soon be too hot to stay outside. We should sleep the worst of it away inside the tent.”

 “D’you want to do that on your own, too?” Vila asked lightly.

Avon didn’t reply, but when they settled down on the air mattresses inside the sleeping compartment, he shifted onto his side, splaying out his hand on Vila’s chest. Vila covered the hand with his own, squeezing gently. “Don’t you want to talk about it, Avon, eh?”

Avon sighed, pillowing his head on his arm. “It seems unfair, somehow.”

“What does?”

“Unfair _to you_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The last time I took a holiday, I was with Anna,” Avon said with finality in his tone, expecting it to be explanation enough. It was.

Vila squeezed his hand again. “I don’t mind. You miss her, and’s not a competition. See, I knew you had a heart in there somewhere.”

Avon’s lips quirked in a faint smile that faded as quickly as it came. “She’s been _dead_ for over two years.”

“I don’t think I ever took a holiday,” Vila mused, trying for a distraction. “This must be a first.”

“For you, every day is a holiday. You never work.” Avon pulled his hand away from Vila’s and rolled onto his back. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Let me help.”

“What have you come up with now? Time travel?”

Vila rose up on his elbows. “Look, I might not be able to fix the cause, but I can treat the symptoms, right? Roll over, I’m giving you a massage.”

Avon scanned his face, frowning, but finally nodded in acquiescence. He sat up to strip off his shirt, then lay down on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms. Vila climbed over him, beginning with gentle strokes along Avon’s arms and shoulders. For once, Avon’s skin didn’t feel chilled, nor did Vila need to warm his hands before he started. There were a few grains of sand that he brushed off carefully, mindful of causing abrasions. Avon drew a shuddering breath, but gradually relaxed under Vila’s ministrations. By the time Vila stopped, his hands aching, Avon was mostly asleep and only mumbled incomprehensibly when Vila lay down by his side, drawing him into his arms. Avon let Vila arrange them limply, hardly helping or resisting at all, and, once settled, Vila was asleep within seconds.

 

Vila woke up alone and stumbled from the sleep compartment to find a drink – and a toilet, or, failing that, a convenient rock outside. At least the interior of the tent was illuminated by the soft luminescence of the tent’s shielding material, providing some light in the wilderness.

Avon was sitting at the entrance of the tent, letting in the cool nightly air. He twisted around at Vila’s stirring. “Vila?”

“Bathroom.”

“Behind the rock formations. There’s a torch in that pouch; don’t trip.”

“I hate sleeping rough,” Vila grumbled as he trudged past, though his heart lifted a little as Avon’s chuckle followed him.

Business taken care of, he sat beside Avon on the blanket the other man had spread out in the entrance of the tent and appropriated the bottle burrowed in the sand nearby. Sadly, it only contained water. It quenched his thirst, however, and once he’d put it back down, Vila looked upwards, taking in the impressive star scape painted onto the clear night sky. On this untouched planet, there was no pollution and no light to obscure the view – once Vila’s eyes had adjusted back to the darkness from using the torch to find his way, it was breath-taking.

“This is something, eh?” he whispered, feeling as though a normal volume might destroy the moment.

“Yes,” Avon answered quietly. He was sitting again with his knees drawn up, jacket draped loosely over his shoulders. “We slept through the afternoon and evening – we’ll have a few more hours of night time yet, but we might as well stay awake. The morning hours will be the most pleasant, before it gets very hot, and then cooler again at dusk.” 

“It’s very quiet here, peaceful. No pursuit ships, for once. No wonder we caught up on sleep. It’s the perfect holidaying activity out here.”

“Says the man who claimed to never have had a holiday in his life.”

“Mind you, I want to go for a swim again before we have to leave.” Vila leant into Avon, drawing some of his warmth. “You don’t swim, do you?”

“No.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I probably wouldn’t drown,” Avon said with the frankness that only came with private nightly talks, “but I don’t find it particularly enjoyable.”

“What _were_ you planning on doing, all alone out here?”

“Nothing much,” was Avon’s response, and Vila could hear the smirk in his voice.

Suddenly, there was a bright flare of light in Vila’s peripheral vision. He whipped his head around – a brilliantly bright streak of light darted down in an arch, crossing the sky ahead. Trailing a tail of fire, its brightness barely faded as it neared the ground. The closeness might have been an illusion, if they had not heard the impact just after the light dipped behind the nearby dunes.

“Avon!”

“I saw it.”

“What do you think it was? Meteorite?”

“We could go and investigate.”

Vila frowned unhappily. “What if it’s dangerous?”

“Then we had better take care of it before it comes and attacks us while you’re taking your morning swim.” Avon stood, shrugging properly into his jacket, and offered Vila a hand to pull him to his feet. “Come on.”

Vila dressed quickly, clasping his bracelet tightly around his arm and tossing Avon his gun before he picked up the torch again. “I don’t like this.”

“We don’t even know what it is, yet.”

“How do we find our way back?”

Avon unclasped a device from his gun belt – a pocket navigator. “How is your memory for coordinates?”

Vila peered at the small screen, committing the numbers to memory. “Good enough when my life might depend on it.”

“Don’t worry. _If_ it is something dangerous, we’ll teleport back to the _Liberator_.” Avon hit the call button on his bracelet. “Orac.”

“The designated time period has not yet elapsed,” Orac’s voice responded testily.

“I know that. Vila and I are investigating a phenomenon. Be ready for emergency teleport.”

There was no reply.

“Orac! Confirm.”

“Yes, yes.”

Satisfied, Avon cut the connection. “Ready, Vila?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Would have been too much to ask, to have holiday with you be uneventful.”

“Weren’t you just wondering whether I might be bored?” Avon set a brisk pace climbing the dunes, heading straight for where the ball of light had come down. He kept his weapon holstered, but never far from his hand.

They didn’t have to walk a great distance, though the sand slowed their progress, and the high dips and rise of the dunes were a nuisance. Thankfully, it was still cool enough that neither of them minded the exertion much, though Vila had to admit to a rising unease when they found the impact site. No further balls of light had come down since, but the one had left a deep groove in the sand before the side of a dune had finally brought it to a stop. A heavy, smoky smell hung in the air. 

Avon put away the navigator and drew his weapon, carefully moving closer. The thing wasn’t large, smaller than Orac, and had half-buried itself in the sand. With the tip of his boot, Avon nudged it free.

Not a rock – plainly it was some sort of technology, visible even through the scorch marks caused by the descent through the atmosphere.

“What is it, do you think?”

“Some kind of satellite, perhaps.”

“It’s too small for a life capsule.”

“Too small for a species our size,” Avon agreed with a smirk and crouched down for a closer look. He still kept his distance, nudging the thing again with his gun. Nothing happened. “It’s cooled down quickly.”

“But what is it? Orac would have warned us if there were any ships, wouldn’t he?”

“Perhaps not, if there was no danger to the _Liberator_ – but it might well just be space debris; what little remains of a destroyed ship. Just sturdy enough to survive re-entry, but of little interest otherwise.” Avon holstered his gun and liberated a pouch of tools from inside his jacket, taking out a multi-purpose analytical probe. He ran a quick distance scan. “No strange or valuable materials.”

“Just so much rubbish, then?” Vila said, finally crouching down beside him.

“Most likely.”

“So we can go back to the oasis?”

“Yes.”

“Shame it couldn’t be made of solid gold,” Vila said, waving his hand at the thing. “At least that would have made it worthwhile.”

Avon suddenly tensed, his gaze rivetted on his probe. “Wait – there’s –”

The next thing Vila sensed was the smell and warmth of a fire – not a terrifying, destructive blaze, but the homely scent of a hearth or – a fireplace. Nonplussed, Vila wrenched open his eyes. He sat staring at a homey fireplace, replicas of which he’d seen in the richest Alpha homesteads. In this one, a real fire was burning merrily, and some greenery was wound around it. Vila found himself seated in an overstuffed armchair, a red velveteen gown wrapped around him, feet ensconced in warm, furry slippers.

He _hadn’t_ touched the object, he was sure of that. But Avon had picked up _something_ – where was he, and where, for that matter, was Vila?

Vila sat up at the sound of a door opening, ready to duck to safety – wherever he could have gone. But it was only a human, a woman peering shyly into the room. Her clothes were even stranger than Vila’s, black and white and old-fashioned – a maid? She kept her gaze demurely downcast. “The goose is served, Master.”

“Thank you,” Vila said automatically, then stared after her once she’d gone. _Master?!_ Either he’d somehow been moved lightyears from where he’d been and into someone else’s role – though his body felt the same under the unfamiliar clothes, and his voice had been his own – or he had been knocked out and was lying unconscious in that desert on that unnamed and uninhabited planet, and somehow, for some reason, this was what his brain had spat out at him.

Vila pinched himself, hard, hoping that it might startle him awake, but it did nothing. In a daze, he rose, subconsciously running his fingers over the luscious materials of his gown, appreciating the quality of the material despite himself. There was a heavy golden ring on his finger, worth a whole month of meals on a Federation black market just on its own. For a lack of options other than to investigate – his bracelet was gone – Vila moved to the door. He stepped out of what was plainly a small smoking room, the likes of which Vila had only ever read of, into a dining room where the table was decked with a feast and a goblet of gleaming red wine sat waiting for him at the only seat with any silverware. The maid was there, and a male servant, who pulled the chair back for Vila.

Going with the flow until he could figure out what was going on, Vila sat, and immediately sipped the wine, for his nerves. It was incredible, better than any Vila had ever tasted.

“Would you like me to serve, Master Restal?” the servant asked, and Vila glanced up sharply at the use of his name. He looked down at the silverware – and found a crest with his name emblazoned on each item. Plainly, this was a dream.

“I guess that explains what happened to Avon,” Vila mused to himself, “though he’d like this.”

“Kerr Avon, sir?” the servant said, as he began loading Vila’s plate.

Vila stared at him. “Mean anything to you?” Of course it would, if this was his subconscious – but perhaps there was something else going on. He couldn’t seem to wake up, for one.

“If I might be permitted to give advice, Master?”

“Yes?”

“You ought to publicly disavow any association with that individual.”

Vila frowned. “And why’s that?”

“Kerr Avon was sentenced to four years penal servitude for embezzlement and gross indecency yesterday, sir. Just a few month ago he would have been sentenced to transportation. It’s in this morning’s paper.”

The anachronisms were starting to pile up – a real fireplace. No computer in sight. Newspapers? “Embezzlement and gross indecency, eh? Sounds like Avon,” Vila murmured, staring at the festive dinner that was coming together before his eyes. Anachronisms were one thing; it wouldn’t be the first time his mind had conjured up images from old and banned literature. Now why his own mind should do such a thing _to Avon_ , he wasn’t sure – there were parallels to the sentence Avon had received under the Federation, of course – though the Federation _had_ actually deported them – but on balance Vila rather liked Avon, not that he’d be caught admitting it, not even to Avon himself. Now if he could just remember what _gross indecency_ used to be…

Not that it mattered. Vila had to get out of this, and fast. Whether something had actually happened to Avon or whether this was all in Vila’s head, knowing his luck, sooner or later someone would figure out that he wasn’t the lord of the manor they seemed to think he was.  

 

Vila extracted himself as fast as he could. At least there seemed to be no guests to entertain – but his servants kept piling up food in front of him, and after he took the first bite, Vila just couldn’t walk away. It was, without doubt, the most delicious food he had ever tasted. There was meat, but he couldn’t think of a good excuse to decline what was clearly supposed to be the centrepiece of the meal, and somehow he found it less repulsive than he normally would. It was one further point for the conclusion that something was messing with his head and none of this was real.

When he retired, he found himself in a cosy bedroom with an ample seating area and another fireplace, which the male servant stirred into life before bidding Vila a good night and closing the door behind him. Vila, still reeling but pleasantly well-fed, investigated the room, coming to stand by the sliding doors which opened out to a landing and a snowed-in landscape beyond. It was completely dark out there. Even if he could find some outdoor clothes in the wardrobes in here, Vila had no idea where he would go – and with only a wax candle for light? He didn’t stand a chance to escape, unless a horse-drawn sleigh made a sudden, miraculous appearance. It would have fitted right in. Vila wished it into being for a moment, but nothing happened. If this was his fantasy, he had little control over it. Despairing, Vila paced, trying to think of a way to snap himself out of it – he’d seen guns, weapons downstairs, but he couldn’t be sure that any drastic measures he might take in this fantasy would not have equally drastic effects – _if_ it was a fantasy. And if it wasn’t, what in the world was happening to Avon? Ordinarily, Vila could trust that Avon knew how to survive, but thrust into this strange world, with its strange anachronistic technology and customs, Vila wasn’t so sure that Avon would be better at coping than he was. Vila’s skill, after all, didn’t depend on high technology, though it did rather depend on tools he didn’t seem to be carrying about his person.

A sudden hard rapping sound on glass startled Vila out of his rising panic. He whirled about – and found a figure lurking before the sliding doors.

In the dark and the snow and the unfamiliar clothes, it took him a long moment to recognise Avon. By then, he had already hefted a candle stick for a makeshift weapon, fully intending to clobber whoever was trying to break in – but Avon waited until Vila opened the door, and by then Vila’s brain had caught up to his identity, even if he had nowhere to put the candle stick.

Avon didn’t even seem to see the makeshift weapon – by the time Vila had opened the door for him, he stepped right up into Vila’s space and pulled him in for a rough, desperate kiss that took Vila’s breath away. Avon wouldn’t let him go even when their lips parted, his hands running in shuddering, uncoordinated motions all over Vila’s arms and back.

As much as Vila wanted to burrow his head in Avon’s neck and forget about the madness around them, he pushed Avon back slightly, trying to get a look Avon’s face. Avon’s skin was nearly blue with cold, even his lips had felt like ice. “Avon, what’s going on, how did you find me?”

Avon shook his head, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. I got away… I think.”

“Is it _you_?”

“What?”

“Is this how you greet me after managing to spend a whole night in a tent in the desert with me and not kissing me once? Or are you…?” Vila left it unvoiced – part of a fantasy, a figment of his imagination, not _real_?

Avon shook his head again as if to clear it and finally, reluctantly, stepped away from Vila. He turned, closed the door, and sharply pulled the curtains before it. “I’m me, I think. It’s… difficult, sometimes, to keep a clear head, as if this… place, or whatever it is, is trying to override my own memories.”

“So are we lying unconscious in a desert somewhere and none of this is real?”

“It feels real enough.” Avon took two long steps to the interior door, turning the key in the lock, and went to extinguish all but one candle, which he placed by the glass doors so they would not cast shadows that might be seen from outside. “It’s probably better if no one knows I’m here.”

Even in the low light, Vila could see that Avon was more than inadequately dressed for the cold. His jacket was of low quality and very thin, as were the shirt and trousers beneath. He wore plain shoes rather than his customary boots, and they, as well as the trim of his trouser legs, were soaked through from the snow. Avon’s hair was in disarray, and there was still a wild look in his eyes, even though his motions had lost some of their jerkiness. Instead, he was shivering and had gravitated towards the fire.

“You should change,” Vila said, addressing a practical thing he could fix before they could apply their combined wits to find a solution for how to get away. He pulled a full velvet morning gown out of a cupboard, with socks and slippers that matched his own.

Avon nodded with lips pressed tightly together, hiding his chattering teeth. He stripped without ceremony or hesitation, draping his clothes over one of the armchairs by the fire. Thankfully, they were not too different in size. Though Vila’s new wardrobe seemed to be made to measure, his slightly stouter frame served them well – Avon could slip into the gown without issue, and instantly looked far more comfortable.

“Thanks.” Avon was suddenly in Vila’s space again. At least, this time, he more characteristically gave Vila a moment to pull back before he kissed him again, equally as intensely.

“Avon, not that I don’t appreciate the attention, but…”

Avon’s lips hovered close to his, parted and sharing his breath, but Avon’s lids shielded his gaze from Vila’s view. He nodded again but made no move to step back. “But this is uncharacteristic?” he murmured, resting his forehead against Vila’s. “I’d apologise, but I was…” Avon’s hand brushed absently over Vila’s arm, and he never finished his sentence. Instead, he changed the topic, though his voice continued to be low and halting, and he didn’t break physical contact. “When I scanned the… device, I picked up an energy signature. It was faint, very faint – but that was just before I woke up here.”

“Do you think it sent us somewhere?”

Avon’s hand stilled on his wrist, and he finally drew back, straightening. “Unlikely – too small a device. It wouldn’t have been able to hold or conduct enough energy to transport anything over large distance, let alone both of us. Have I ever shown you the _Liberator_ ’s teleport generators? The energy drain is enormous; it was one of the biggest problems in the Aquitar project. _Liberator_ ’s teleport only functions with less energy because the System used a different compound in the construction – but the power necessary is still considerable. It’s not easily compressed into a small space.”

“This isn’t real after all, then?”

“A shared hallucination? A mirage? Who knows. I suppose we might snap out of it when _Liberator_ teleports us back up.”

“But that’s in, what, two days? By that time we’d be dehydrated and fried to a crisp, lying out in the desert like that!”

“Do you have a suggestion?” Avon asked, sounding as if he actually wanted to hear it, for once.

“Not really,” Vila conceded, “I was wondering what would happen if I died in here, but I’m not sure I want to risk it.”

Avon gave him a sharp, lopsided grin. “Not yet, anyway.” 

“Maybe we could figure out what the device is supposed to do?”

“It might just be there to temporarily immobilise its victims, until something else can collect them.” Avon ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to order it, not quite pacing in thought.

“Collect us, you mean? Avon, I don’t want to be food for some hairy alien!”

Avon caught his eyes. “You haven’t noticed any of the… mental effects?”

Vila paused for a moment, breathing out his nerves, as if he were about to open a complex lock, and _listened_ to his thoughts, the way he did when he was trying to figure out a puzzle. Suddenly, as he looked at Avon, he knew him as his secret lover, a relationship that was profound but incredibly illicit, knew what it meant that Avon had been arrested, knew what the servants had meant with their warning. Knew that Avon had escaped and walked through the snow for miles in inadequate clothing just to see him one more time, before being incarcerated – knew, too, that this was a holiday, that they had wanted to spend the night together in all secrecy, that Avon hadn’t turned up as appointed – and then he’d read the papers and learned that he’d been caught. Knew that when Avon left – and he would leave, for he didn’t want to get Vila caught – he might not ever see him again alive. For years in prison under hard labour was no laughing matter. But none of that was real – they hadn’t met at a gentlemen’s club over chess; they kept their relationship quiet, but not because it was illegal; they had gone on holiday from the _Liberator_ , but not because the date was festive in any way on Earth or any other planet that mattered. Most importantly, they lived far away from this time and place without technology, travelling _space_ in one of the most advanced ships in existence. Vila didn’t find it too difficult to subdue the false memories, though he was aware of them now. The terror for Avon’s safety and theirs, however, lingered, jittering in Vila’s heart, and two thoughts remained on the surface. Being Vila, he voiced them both: “Conditioning never worked right on me. You must be starving!”

Avon, helplessly, gave a short laugh and sat down in one of the chairs by the fire. “I’m finding it difficult enough to remember what my real memories are. I wonder if this is what Blake feels all the time.”

Vila shuddered, despite himself. “Look, I can get you some food. There is plenty of left-overs, and the servants and cook have gone to bed by now. They’ll think I’m getting something for myself – if they even see me.”

“Vila, I don’t know how long I can stay.”

“Nonsense. I’ll keep it straight for you, don’t you worry – what does it matter if they catch us? None of this was mine in the first place; I haven’t had time to get attached. And unlike the Federation these folks won’t drag us in front of a firing squad on the spot, and none of this is real. Unless we figure a way out of here or get rescued, it won’t matter anyway.”

Avon nodded, brushing the side of his hand over his mouth. “Bleak but accurate. Very well, I’ll try to… remember while you’re out of the room.”

Vila felt abruptly chilled but nodded back with faked resolution. He unlocked the door and hurried down to the kitchen, drawing on false instincts to guide his way.

There was plenty of goose meat left. The vegetables were gone, and the sauce was cold, but Vila didn’t think Avon would mind. He piled some on a plate, added two stale bread rolls and the half-emptied bottle of wine, and brought everything back upstairs.

Avon was waiting behind the door and immediately locked it again after Vila had stepped inside.

“What is this?” he asked softly when Vila pressed the plate into his hands and went in search for a glass in the sideboard.

“Goose. Festive meats, I believe, not that I – no, I do know what festivity it’s supposed to be, but that’s not a real memory. Strange, the things people used to celebrate. Anyway, the food is very good.”

“ _You_ ate this?”

“I didn’t know whether I could say no without making anyone suspicious. I might be sick later. They probably still wondered why I polished off more of the vegetables that came with it than the main attraction. Glass of wine?”

Avon stood looking at the food and gave a little lost shrug. “I don’t know whether it’s a good idea to dull my mind – then again, is it possible to get intoxicated on a wine that only exists in our minds?”

“Honestly, I think we’re both holding up way better than whoever built the thing expected – probably they wanted us to be completely lost in the fantasy.”

“Probably.” Avon finally sat and started pulling strips off the meat with his fingers, dipping them into the pool of cool sauce. “Now there’s a thought. I wonder what they intended to achieve with this singularly unpleasant fantasy?”

“Why unpleasant?”

“Why unpleasant?!” Avon echoed, incredulously. “Vila, I just spent an hour trekking through the freezing cold, and that was after I…” He broke off, absently rubbing at his wrist. “Never mind.”

“After you escaped arrest, right out of the prison transport?”

Avon’s hands stilled. “How did you know?”

“Apparently, I read about your sentence in the papers this morning, though I didn’t ‘remember’ until my servant reminded me of it over dinner, just after I ‘woke up’. But now you’ve escaped and you’re here with your secret lover – me – and there’s festive meals and a warm fire and a warm bed and good company, even if I say so myself.”

“Vila, none of this is real.”

“Yes, but the creators of that device didn’t know we’d know that, did they? Besides, I am.”

“If your theory is that they wanted to provide us with a lovers’ fantasy straight out of a novel of abysmal quality just for entertainment, I could have done without the _danger_!”

Vila grinned, making it his most insouciant one. “Don’t tell me it didn’t make you happier to see me after all of that.”

Avon exhaled sharply but didn’t dispute the point. Instead he carried on eating absently and sipped at the wine Vila held out to him. “So that’s your suggestion,” he said finally, “to take the fantasy, as unsophisticated as it is, to its logical conclusion?”

Vila shrugged, sampling some of the wine himself. “I’m saying we have no better plan, it’s late, there’s a better bed than our air mattresses in the desert right over there, and we worry about tomorrow in the morning.”

“Meanwhile, our bodies are being cooked in the desert sun.”

“Or time works differently in a dream.”

“Vila, we aren’t even entirely sure that this _is_ a dream.”

“Look, here’s the way I see it. We can either panic about something we have no way of changing at the moment, or we can relax and enjoy it while we can until we figure out something better.”

“Is that your maxim?”

“Well, it’s true. Until I figure out how to live forever, I plan to take the enjoyments as they come along the way. I don’t want to look back and regret missing out when there’s a death at the end, and a harsh and brutal one, too, probably.”

“Most deaths are.” Avon set the empty plate to the side. “As good a philosophy as any, coming from you.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Avon sat in silence for a while, cradling the glass, his head tilted back against the chair. The flickering firelight looked good on him, as did the opulence around them. If this was a trashy romance fantasy, it was working its charm on Vila, whether he believed it to be real or not. The warmth, the glow, the scents and the company were worth it – and possibly his subconscious had contributed a thing or two to this construction. How else should the alien device come equipped with pre-atomic Earth anachronisms?

Vila glanced around once more and spotted a little table with chess figures by the side. “Hey, Avon – game of chess?”

“We might as well.” Avon opened his eyes. “At least with all this I stopped–” He cut himself off, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth.

“Hey now, don’t go all morose on me again.”

“No.” Avon straightened, adjusting the chess table between their two armchairs. “Whether this is a fantasy or a dream or whether we are dying out there, I want to forget, just for a night. Your move, Vila.”

Vila threw himself into the chess game with enthusiasm he could rarely muster on the _Liberator_. The whole setting was a sensory thrill. The warmth of the fire, the full stuffing of the armchair, the gentle, soft materials of his clothes, the delicately carved chess figures. Even Avon, his presence, his scent, his warmth and voice seemed enhanced, _more_ real in this space than it had been in that tent in the desert on an alien planet. Avon’s free hand lay by the chessboard, and Vila caught it and brushed it with his thumb, feeling warm and alive and far safer than he had any right to be.

They shared the bottle of wine between them, the single glass changing hands easily, and by the time they had played through a couple of games they both felt drowsy and comfortable enough to be able to ignore the strangeness of their night together.

Vila sank onto the mattress, patting the rich quilt and bounced happily on the rich upholstery. “Ah, there’s something to be said for luxury, after all.”

“As you say,” Avon agreed, pleasantly mellow. He lay back beside Vila, watching him from where his head rested on the satin pillows, a hand reached out to absently stroke Vila’s arm.

“What are you looking at?” Vila asked, catching the hand and entwining their fingers.

“You.”

“What’s that mean?”

A smile played about Avon’s lips and he tilted his head towards Vila. “Perhaps this… dream is manipulating my perception, but altogether – it was worth it, Vila.”

“Does that mean I get another kiss?”

Avon’s smile turned into a smirk and he pulled Vila down, toppling him off balance, for the requested kiss.

They snuggled under the quilt together to sleep, entwined in each other, warm skin stroking soft velvet and smooth satin, all combining to a pleasant cocoon of contentment and warmth. Vila committed the expression of total relaxation of Avon’s face to memory before closing his eyes, fading to sleep to the sound of Avon’s breath and the soft cracking of the fading fire.

 

He woke up, on his back, staring at an open night sky overhead, sand slipping and sliding under his hands. Vila sat up abruptly, making himself dizzy. It was still night – only the faintest rays of dawn showing. He felt… fine. Not sore, not dehydrated, better, in fact, than he’d been when they’d come down from the _Liberator_. It seemed he’d been right, and time had passed differently in the dream.

Avon was right next to him, fallen on his side. He, too, was stirring. He jolted upright at Vila’s touch, then sank back when he realised who it was. “Vila.” There was still some of the softness, gentleness in his voice.

“Hey. I think we’re back, and we lived.”

Avon sat up fully, picking up the probe where it had dropped by his hand. Carefully extending it towards the device lying by their feet, he took a reading. “Dead. No energy at all. Either it fulfilled its purpose, or it burned itself out. Perhaps it was damaged during re-entry, after all.”

“Do you want to take it with us, have a closer look back on the ship?”

Avon studied it for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet, pulling Vila back up with him. His touch lingered. “No, I don’t think so. Let’s get back to the tent. Perhaps you can show me what’s so great about swimming.”

“I’d like that,” Vila said, beaming at him. “But, Avon, don’t you want to know…”

Avon’s gaze travelled across the sky, taking in the first signs of dawn. “I don’t think so. Perhaps, Vila, it was just our own little holiday miracle.” He looked over at Vila for just a moment, but Vila caught the smile even as Avon turned away to begin climbing the dune back to their camp. He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like: “Something valuable, after all.”

Not letting on that he had heard, Vila fell easily into step beside him, chattering: “Believe in miracles now, do you? Anyway, I’m glad we’re out of the snow. Mind you, that bed was something…”


End file.
